Oct. 1st, 2011

bluesilverkdg: (Default)
Why, yes, I am up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, but believe you me, it's not because I want to be. No, I am listening to the melodious strains of Oreo running back and forth through the house, up and down the stairs, in and out of...places...at breakneck speed. The mouse is back.

Tuesday night (I think it was Tuesday?) I drank a Coke fairly late at night. This was a mistake, because (a) I rarely have sodas at all, especially caffeinated ones (b) I had it fairly late at night. Oh, well...that's the night I was up posting at 2am. Yeah! You remember that! Then later that night, I realized that both of my cats were hanging out a LOT downstairs. This is normal for Oreo, not normal for Misty. She rarely comes downstairs, so I figured something had to be up. And it was. We had mouseage.

For most people, this might be a mild inconvenience or annoyance. In my mind, however, I might as well have a disease-infested, sabre-toothed, flame-throwing monster hanging out in my bedroom, because that's pretty much what I think of mice, and rodents in general. I don't like them. No, let's be frank. I hate them. Loathe. Despise. Want to eradicate off the face of the earth.

I don't even like those so-called "cute" ones that you can put in a cage and feed carrots to. Guinea pigs? Hamsters? NO THANK YOU. I never even trusted the freakin' chinchilla they made me get for my five-year-olds when I was teaching pre-K. I was not an advocate of keeping a rodent in the room. All it did was lull those children into a false sense of security, that it or its cousins would not come into your bedroom at night and eat your eyes out. Because they will.

So, let's suffice to say, having a mouse IN MY BEDROOM is not my ideal situation. I'm normally about the biggest pacifist that you'll find. I don't even want to step on a spider. But a mouse? Heck yeah, I'd take that puppy out with an uzi if I could. That said, I probably will not set traps, not because I give a crap about the mouse, but I don't want to have to deal with the carnage later. The thought of having to pick up a trap with a dead and possibly dismembered mouse in it absolutely turns my stomach.

I don't know if my cats are just not doing the job, if they're too old and slow to properly hunt or if they're just toying with it so they can move in for the kill later. Whatever the case, I wish they'd get down to it and just catch the darned thing. Although, that will probably involve dealing with mouse carnage too, perhaps strewn about my house. Blech. Knowing them, they'd probably present the leftovers to me as a love offering. On my bedroom slippers.

I wish the mouse would just realize "hey, there are two cats who live here who want to chase me! Maybe I should go infest another house!" And then it could share this realization with all its shady little mouse friends. And I feed not one, but TWO feral cats outside. Where are THEY when I need them? They should be guarding the points of entry, for God's sake.
I ask very little of my cats. I ask that they occasionally let them pet me, and that they be cute and cuddly. These are pretty easy tasks for any critter. It's not like they've ever had to earn their keep before. And isn't catching mice supposed to be fun and instinctive for cats? Or is it just the chasing that's fun? Because I tell you, they both seem to be having the time of their lives, however, the little turd keeps getting away. But then it comes back. Geez, maybe it's enjoying the game, too.

Have any of you used those ultrasonic sound thingies that you plug into walls? I've heard that while they can be effective for a bit, that eventually the mouse (or whatever) gets used to the sound and learns to ignore it. I refuse to put anything poisonous out in the garage, which is evidently their point of entry, because I don't want random dead mice around my house, getting into God-knows-what to spend their final hours, and I definitely don't want them tracking in anything that the cats might be able to ingest.

This mouse is going to be the death of me. The thing is scarcely two inches long, yet I have been living in terror for the past four days because of it. I will not let this rodent defeat me. I'd really like to get some more sleep on a rainy, cold Saturday morning, but if that thing went running across my bed, I sincerely believe I'd have a heart attack.

Have I mentioned how much I hate mice?

(In completely unrelated news, the song I'm listening to has spurred me to make a confession. I love Beyonce. I always have. I liked her OK in Destiny's Child, but solo (or with Jay-Z)? Heck yeah. Bring it. So, this song came on my player and I started singing along when I got to the line "gonna turn this puppy out." Then I thought "is that what it really says?" Given my penchant for misunderstood song lyrics, you never know. But I've been singing it that way for a while. So I conferred with the Google.
It's "turn this party out." I guess that makes more sense. I really think I'd rather turn this puppy out, though. I'm callin' all the girls. I see you look me up and down.)


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